


Tender Love and Care

by Tarnit



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Consensual, Illnesses, M/M, Tactile Sexual Interfacing, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3894826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarnit/pseuds/Tarnit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his medic too ill and stubborn to care for himself properly, its up to Optimus to provide Ratchet with the relief he needs, but not without making him suffer a little more first. </p>
<p>My half of a fic trade with Cataradical on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tender Love and Care

"Optimus, please..." 

The token protest was far weaker than normal, Ratchet's voice barely more than a pleaded whimper. Curled over himself next to the desk in their quarters, he did not pose much of a physical resistance either. 

He gagged again, one servo clutching the icy metal floor. Frag it all. His pride was slipping too… 

Two relatively cooler areas appearing on his burning frame were drawn into awareness as Optimus supported him from behind. Slumping into the gentle hold, the medic's tanks heaved again. Drips of rancid, under processed energon fell from his panting lips; the majority of his reserves already eating away at the tiles.

A stage three virus, not fatal, but well under way and too far gone for medicinal relief. Ugh. Why did he have to be so informative of the illness' signs /after/ he had succumbed to it? 

Too late now to gripe, he mused, best tough it out so Optimus would focus on more important matters than an ancient medic who should have known better than to mess with untested energon. He glanced from the corner of his optic and over a shoulder spauldron at the other mech. Catching the gentle gaze in a brief moment, Ratchet hunched over again with a louder groan. 

Oh no. 

Optimus was worried. 

Optics shuttered tightly as he wallowed in his misery, the ambulance could only feel as his Prime shifted to sit beside him. The pair of tender servos never left his frame. 

"Optimus please," he repeated, just as weakly as before, "I will be fine. Nothing my auto-immune systems can't fight off." 

There was no response from the red and blue semi. Instead, a soft sound of relief was drawn from Ratchet as his sore back cabling was kneaded. Large hands that had no business being that deft worked their way under his lower plating to his protoform. Fingers rubbed the small distance up and down his lowest spinal struts, easing the deep ache that had settled there long before the medic had fallen ill.

Braced only on a single arm, the other curled tight around his midrift, Ratchet's strength was stolen from him. Elbow buckling, he would have collapsed into his own purged puddle - probably a fate he deserved for being so stubborn - had a strong arm not wound its way around his upper frame to tug him against a strong chassis. 

"You don't h-have *zzzzt* to *zzt* d*zzzzzt*o th-this." A final protest was mumbled before Ratchet's voice was lost under garbled static. He gave in. Tucking against the familiar energy field, he panted raggedly through his vents. 

"Easy, old friend." The smooth baritone washed over him, settling some of the unrest within his spark. "I do not mind caring for the one who has saved our sparks countless times. However, you should have informed me of your situation when the symptoms first became recognizable to you." 

Ahh fraggit. Optimus wasn't just worried. 

He was disappointed. 

Wasn't he suffering enough already? 

Thankfully, the Prime seemed to share Ratchet's thoughts, moving passed his heavy comment to lift the medic easily off the uncomfortable, and now rancidly stained, floor. 

Away from the cold relief, the ill mech's vents heaved in overtime. He shied away from Optimus, pushing weakly at the other mech. No matter how much he desired to curl closer and take comfort from that strong spark, the heat was unbearable. His circuits were surely ignited by now, struts melting, plating searing to the touch. 

With his optics still shut, he did not see the frown that crossed his lover's expression. 

"First and foremost, we need to lower your temperature." Optimus may be one to state the painfully obvious, but he said it in such a way that one could not help but be endeared to his caring nature. Now if the fragger would hurry up and help him already, Ratchet may be in more of an endearing mood as well. 

As he swayed with Optimus' steps, the smaller mech was suddenly glad he had already purged everything his tanks had to offer. If he hadn't, the semi would have had a new shade of blue added to his paint job. 

Not as soon as the crotchety mech would have liked, he blinked his optics open to see the small, and somewhat pitiful, walls of their Earth based washwracks surrounding him. They had done what they could with the limited space the humans had granted them, but Ratchet ached with the wish to soak in a real oil bath again and not merely wash with a single hand-held spout. 

Focus lurching again as Optimus set him to the floor, the medic could not help but groan in relief and press into the cold floor and wall he leaned on. Lost to the sensation, he jumped when he felt a hand touch him once more. 

Weak optics blinked online - and when had he shut them off again anyway? - to have his sight filled with the stubbornly caring faceplates of his partner. The Prime leaned forward, kissing the center of Ratchet's helm before returning to what he had started. 

Pieces of red and white armour were reverently unlatched and lifted away from the scalding frame. Heated systems hissed as they met cool air, inviting it deeper to the overwarm core. 

Ratchet no longer had the strength to protest, situating himself with a good view of the larger mech while allowing Optimus to lift and move his frame as was needed to remove all his armour. Not quite how the Prime usually got him in his protoform, but Ratchet wasn't going to complain. 

He lurched violently again as the sound of water hitting metal flooded the small room. Unshuttering his optics - Primus, how did those keep closing without his permission? - the medic watched exhaustedly as his pede was lifted into the other's lap. Prime was tender in his motions, turning his ankle side to side with care as he sprayed into the joint. Grit and debris were washed free, not only easing the range of motion from the strut, but unclogging small areas that were aiding in holding the heat in. 

A sudden groan echoed with the sounds of water. It took Ratchet a surprising moment to realize the sound had reverberated from him. Not that the knowledge stopped another such noise from escaping. He couldn't help it; all of his receptors were wired high to fight to the root of the virus. His sensory data was overwhelmed by the sudden stimulation, sending it to Ratchet's processors as pleasure, further imprinted by the loving spark field of his mate enveloping his own. 

His noises, though weak from Ratchet's exhaustion, only got louder as the spray was moved higher up his leg. Larger cluster nodes under his knee and the side of his thigh pulsed in waves with each pass of the nozzle, sending Ratchet's processor into a haze of bliss. The cleanser was focused on each section of protoform with the same attentive care; not a spot was missed. Though the medic's metal did not sparkle or glisten, the liquids pooling on the floor ran clear before Optimus redirected the shower head. 

As Ratchet's leg was settled to the floor once more, and the other attended to in a similar fashion, the older mech flexed and relaxed his fingers in his lap. His optics were a deep shade of lust, sparking briefly with strut-deep weariness from his internal battle to regain his health. This virus was a doozy of an illness, as the humans would say, though it was nice to be pampered like this. Not that the crotchety mech would admit that to any being. 

A flare of pleasure from his hip, followed by a static filled groan, pulled the medic from his thoughts. Optimus had finished with his legs, and had centered his 'attack' higher up. With his mate sitting astride his thighs, Ratchet could feel the Prime restraining his weight, keeping himself from accidentally crushing the smaller mech. 

Then, coherency was stolen from him. Circuits burned with pleasure, not pain, for the first time since he'd fallen ill. Panting open mouthed, Ratchet was too weak to push closer to the almost achingly gentle spray cleaning through his middle. Optimus, ever attuned to his mate's needs, slipped his free arm under the medic and lifted him off the wall to press their chassis together. 

The deep purr of the semi's engines vibrated, dominant and gentle as was the Prime's way, through their contact and down into Ratchet's core. Keening, curling against the strong chest, Ratchet finally gave in to the care and pleasure. 

It was all too much for his overwhelmed senses as he writhed weakly in his love's arms, wave after wave of bliss rising through him. His optical feed shorted out, along with more than a few non-vital relays unable to handle the sudden increase in an already scalding body temperature. 

Primus! Optics were temporarily shorted, gyros slightly off preferred calibration, processor partially catching up on a well needed defrag and ...body temperature decreased? He tucked his face into his mate's neck, trying to convey his thanks for the brief respite from his burning form. Though the heat was returning, the charge release had cleared much of it from his frame. 

The exhausted medic, optics offline by choice now, felt warm lips press to his forehelm. Strong arms gathered him close, tucking his own weakened limbs to his frame before lifting him once more to the broad chest.

"Rest well, old friend."

Ratchet was in recharge before they'd left the washwracks.


End file.
